Carry You Home
by Sirens in the water
Summary: Bucky reached his fingers out to brush Steve's swollen cheek, a familiar sight, gently pulling up the cowl that hid his friend's cerulean eyes. Blood bubbled from the corner of Steve's mouth as Bucky clutched Steve to his chest, cradling the super soldier's head. "Steve…Stevie, please. Please." Character death. Civil War AU. Please Read and Review


**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel anything.**

 **Please read and review.**

 **Sorry for the feels.** +

"I can do this all day."

He saw red.

If you asked Tony to recall any of the battle, he could tell you nothing, so blinded by his rage. Through the haze of anger, he heard the satisfying crunch of bones and the sweet splatter of blood upon the ground. The grate of metal on flesh and Kevlar sent a shiver of contentment through his iron blood as faint cries sang in his ears. The punching and punching and punching continued for a lifetime as his rage lived and died with his parents. A ringing persisted, battling the adrenaline.

A punch.

A cough.

Splatter.

"STOP!"

Cough. Splatter.

"Steve!"

Suddenly, something… No someone, he corrected, barreled into his side. Tony fell with a clatter all at once exhausted, empty. He blinked the rage from his eyes and saw red. Too much. Too much red, everywhere. On his hands, on the ground, dripping from Steve's mouth. Dropping into a puddled with a satisfying plop. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God oh God oh GodohGod.

A guttural cry drew Tony's attention away from the macabre sight. To the man next to him. Bucky. Bucky Barnes. The man who murdered his parents. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. He… He… It didn't matter anymore. Nothing matter anymore, Tony realized. He was too tired to care. Too empty. Nothing mattered.

Bucky's eyes, glazed over in pain, rippled with anguish and fear. Fear. The first time Tony saw an emotion other than pain on his face. It was beautiful.

It was tragic.

XXX

Bucky dragged himself over to Steve's prone form. Just a little closer. Just… a little. A similar scene unraveled from his misty memories. A skinnier, scrawnier Steve laying face up in the puddle in some back alley in Brooklyn. Beaten unconscious. Still holding a trash can lid in his right hand. Carrying him home. Always carrying him home.

Bucky reached his fingers out to brush Steve's swollen cheek, a familiar sight, gently pulling up the cowl that hid his friend's cerulean eyes. Blood bubbled from the corner of Steve's mouth as Bucky clutched Steve to his chest, cradling the super soldier's head.

"Steve…Stevie, please. Please." A cough sent more liquid iron careening onto the cold ground, the blue Kevlar, onto the hand already stained with so much. Bucky felt Steve shudder in his grip. A hand weakly reach up to touch Bucky's cheek, then slipped, tumbled.

"I'm with you Buck." He heard the whisper, fighting a rising panic. No. No. NO.

"I'll be with you…'til the end of the line."

"No Steve. No! Stop. Whatever stupid thing you think you're doing, stop!" Emotion threatened to cut off Bucky's words. Steve lightly chuckled, coughed, sighed.

"You took all the stupid with you, remember?" Another memory flew into Bucky's head, unbidden. A farewell between two brothers so, so, so long ago. His breath hitched.

"Punk."

Steve closed his bright eyes as a smile spread across his face, slowly going limp in Bucky's grip.

"Jerk," he breathed and stilled. A vice clamped shut over Bucky's heart.

"Steve. Steve. Steve! Steve please. Please wake up. Please. You can't—you can't leave me. No. You can't… you can't… die. Please Stevie. Please! Please. Please. Please! Steve."

Sobs cut off the flow of despair as he gently tried to wake his friend. Tears pooled and fell from his dark eyes for the first time in nearly 70 years.

"I just found you again. We finally made it back to each other. You can't, Steve. You can't."

Ugly screams ripped from the pleading lips as he stared into the peaceful face of his brother, finally allowed to rest. The realization that he would never see those cerulean eyes again caused a fresh wave of agony to shred the newly beating heart of the Winter Soldier. With sobs redoubled, Bucky clutched Steve to his chest and cried out as agony coursed through every vein in his body.

This was all his fault. Everything. If only he hadn't been so selfish. If only he had pushed Steve away again, making him keep his distance, protecting him from danger. That was his job. To protect Steve. And he failed. He failed because he was selfish.

He forgot his mission. He couldn't stay away anymore. In reality, when he heard that everyone and their mothers was looking for him, he could have disappeared. He could have run and run and run and never have been found. But he couldn't. He couldn't stay away from Steve anymore. His Steve. He needed him, and he was weak. He gave in, and now Steve was gone. That little five foot four kid from Brooklyn who got beat up in back alleys, stepped on dame's toes, stood up to the biggest bullies, Hitler included, and had the spirit of a lion in his fragile frame was gone. That little kid who was made of toothpicks, wore newspapers in his shoes, spoke fluent Gaelic, couldn't cook worth a damn, but rescued an entire infantry solo in order to save one man, was gone. And Bucky was to blame.

Faintly, he could register Stark's frantic attempts to call for help, but they both knew it was too late. Steve was dead, and it was their fault.

XXX

Bucky felt no anger, no pain, no more anguish. He felt empty. Numb. Like he was missing a piece of his soul. Which was true, he mused. With a shuddering sigh of resignation, he swung the empty vessel of his friend over his shoulder, and with trembling limbs, began to stand. He stumbled, Stark's hand shot forward, but he snarled.

"You've done enough, Stark." The red and gold clad man recoiled bowing his head, acknowledging the truth in this. With halting steps, Bucky carried Steve up the stairs, through the halls, and down the corridors of the hell where he was bred. Memories pressed in on him, but Bucky pushed them away violently. He didn't need those anymore. That wasn't who he was.

He was Bucky Barnes. Sniper of the Howling Commandos. Right hand man of Captain America. Best friend and protector of one reckless son-of-a-bitch Steve Rogers. He was a kid from Brooklyn whom the world had tossed and teased and played with. No more. He was none of that anymore. He was just Bucky. Steve's jerk and friend.

The weight of the man on his shoulder pressed on his heart, crushing the resolve and the fragile pieces of Bucky's broken heart. He stumbled just a bit as he reached the entrance to the base and stepped into the freezing wind of Siberia.

Siberia. So far from home. In a flash, Bucky understood this was one time where he wouldn't be able to bring Steve home. There was no way. With the entire world after him, the rescue mission he had to pull, not to mention shutting off his programming, he couldn't bring Steve with him. He wasn't going home. Steve would be alone, truly alone and isolated for the first time.

Bucky's knees hit the frozen ground as tears leaked out of his eyes once more. Gently, he laid Steve out on the ground. At once, Bucky saw the skinny-ass kid he once was in the blue tint to his lips and the bloodied, swollen features of his face. He silently rested his head on the star emblem of Steve's chest and let the tears roll though him. He would have to leave Steve. Again. But this time, there was no Peggy Carter to look after him. He wouldn't have the Howling Commandos backing him up. He would be alone and frozen again in the ground. He would be cold. Steve hated the cold. And Bucky couldn't save him from this.

He heard the clank of Stark's metal boot behind and, with a shuddering breath, rose to face him. The mask was down, and the likeness between him and his father struck Bucky to the core. Those dark eyes he once knew (usually ringed by soot) stared back at him with clear, palpable pain and regret. Tears and anguish contorted the face of the man before him, but the sight did not soften the heart of the soviet soldier. This man had killed his best friend.

"I can take him back… take him home. Make sure he gets a proper burial." The remorseful lips moved, but the words seemed detached and delayed as they fell on Bucky's ears.

Steve could go home. This man could take Steve home. Steve wouldn't be alone, in the cold. Steve could go home.

"No." The word silenced the howl of the wind as the world seemed still on its axis.

"What did you say?" Stark's question rang loud and clear against the icy realm. Bucky resisted the urge to wince. This man sounded so much like Howard it was crazy.

"No. You can't take him."

"Why?" Bucky turned away from the memories that assaulted him from the familiar face.

"Because he won't be honored. You can guarantee it as much as you want, but Captain America did not die a noble death. He was a fugitive who broke the law repeatedly standing up for what he believed was right. He won't be honored! He will be disgraced. Because no one will see Steve. All they'll see is the broken body of Captain America, and they will use him to get the rest of the world in line with their little game. I won't let him become a pawn in a game he did not want to play. I won't. He will be buried here where he died defending his cause. He will die the death of a hero here and not the death of a criminal at the hands of those bigots."

Tears blurred Bucky's eyes again. God dammit Steve. You always make things so complicated, he mentally chuckled. He took a couple of deep breaths before he turned to gauge Stark's reaction. To his surprise, Tony seemed to acknowledge this truth as he began surveying the area for a suitable place to bury their fallen comrade. He seemed to be satisfied with one place and began blasting away in an effort to create a hole wide and deep enough to contain the super soldier.

The noise distracted Bucky from his morose thoughts as he sat down beside his friend and began humming a familiar tune that he knew Steve had loved. He gently cleaned the blood from the face that was etched into his heart nearly a century ago when they first met. The memory blossomed in front of his eyes in a flash of color.

XXX

 _He was six, walking home from school. Bouncing down the cramped Brooklyn street as the sun beat down from its sentinel position in the sky, he heard a faint cry from the nearby alley. Curiosity pulled his steps around the corner where he saw the back of three behemoths surrounding a stick boy cowering behind a trash can lid. Instantly, the entire scene clicked into place._

 _Without a thought, Bucky hurled himself at the smallest of the three and kicked him in the knees, bringing him to the ground. He ran to the smaller boy, who looked about four or five._

" _Hey kid, you okay?" The kid pierced him with his cerulean gaze and shocked Bucky with the determined gleam in his eyes._

" _I had them on the ropes!" Bucky bit back a laugh._

" _Sure you did punk."_

" _Jerk."_

" _I'm just tryin' to help!"_

" _Well I don't need it! I had it under control!"_

" _Not from where I'm standing!"_

 _A call rang out from the entrance of the alley._

" _Are you two kiddies done? Or do we need to come walk ya home?"_

 _Both glared at the looming threat on the horizon of their world._

" _Together?"_

" _Together."_

 _In the end, both limped home with massive bruising and black eyes. Bucky had to support the younger kid._

" _I'm Bucky, by the way. I'm six!"_

" _Me too! I'm Steve."_

 _It was the first time he had carried him home and by no means the last._

XXX

"Barnes!" Bucky looked up, realizing Tony had been calling him for a while. Much to his chagrin, tears had fallen and frozen on his face.

"What?" he bit out.

"It's ready."

Instantly Bucky sobered. This was it. This was goodbye. He tried to swallow against the lump in his throat as he hefted Steve over his shoulder. With staggering steps and a shaky bottom lip, Bucky carried Steve over to the hole Stark had made in the frozen Siberian permafrost. Carefully, and with some unwanted help from Stark, they lowered Steve into the cold ground, softly laying him to rest. Together, they kicked dirt back over his body until the hole was mostly filled.

Bucky closed his eyes against the mental image of Steve buried in the cold, dark earth and resisted every instinct screaming at him to tear into the recently turned over soil, pull Steve's skinny-ass out of trouble once more, and carry him home, wrap him up in blankets, and force feed him through the Depression again. Tears pushed relentlessly against Bucky's eyelids and leaked through his frosty lashes as images assaulted him. Steve wearing his father's too large boots, Steve grinning at him when he spoke Gaelic for the first time, Steve going with him to celebrate Passover, Steve running, running, always running towards some goal, something better than this. And now he's six and a half feet under, stone cold, and never moving forward.

"Should I say something?" Stark's grating voice broke through at the worst moment but mercifully breaking him out of his painful revere. With eyes still closed, Bucky replied softly,

"Go 'head."

Stark cleared his throat and choked out,

"Steve was a good man. One of the best. He and I… we didn't get along sometimes, but I never thought… I never considered…I can't believe that I… I… I'm so sorry Steve. I'm so sorry."

Sobbing prompted Bucky to open his eyes, and he stared deliberately at the mound of fresh dirt and ice as the man next to him broke down in tears of guilt and shame.

"I promise, Rogers, I promise I'll get them out." Stark seemingly ran out of things to say as he briefly knelt and placed a hand on Steve's grave. Then, to Bucky's sorrow, the man turned a watery, expectant gaze on him. Pushing down the mild panic, Bucky cleared his throat, struggling to choke out the words over the pounding mantra in his head. This is goodbye. This is goodbye. This is goodbye.

"Steve Rogers was one of the most reckless, loyal, bravest, kindest, stubborn son of a bitch I ever knew. He always stood up for what was right. Rarely has anyone so morally sound existed and his conviction in the goodness of people and the dignity in every person every day of their life no matter the circumstance is a quality that got him in a lot of trouble. But I loved him for it. I always admired him, even when I found him getting beat up in a back alley. He had no idea how much I… how much I wanted to be like him before he got the serum.

"When we were kids he was always the one leading, despite the fact he constantly seemed to be on death's door. He seemed to always be nursing a cold or some sort of disease. He had asthma, he got polio, and he got Last Rites so often I swear he's good to go for the next ten lifetimes. But he pursued life with a vengeance and passion I can only assume came from his close scrapes with death. Somehow I both never and always imagined that I would be standing as they buried him. He was always so fragile, but he possessed an other-worldly vitality that I naively thought would keep him alive.

"The serum gave him the body to match his wild spirit, and I thought he would never die. For some reason, I thought he was safe and healthy. But I was wrong. Stevie just found more trouble to get into, naturally. So I followed to prevent… this. It was my job to protect you, Stevie. My job to keep you alive. I promised Sarah. I promised you. Remember, Stevie? I promised you I would keep you safe, and I failed. I failed, and you had to pay. It was all my fault. If only…"

Tears choked off Bucky's words. He swallowed harshly and pressed on.

"I swear I will make it up to you, Stevie. I promise. I'll get your team out. I'll keep them safe, for you. I'll do better for you. I'll hold the world to your standards because you were good, Stevie. You were the best person I ever met and will ever meet. I'll make them honor you. I promise. I will not let the world forget you Steve. The world was better because you were in it, and I'll always remind it of its cruelty for taking you from me and potential for good because it gave you to me. You were my brother Steve and I'll never forget you. You made life worth living and taught me how to make the best of any situation and how to live. You were the best Steve. You will always be my brother and I'll carry your memory in my heart forever. I'll carry you home one day Steve."

Tears were freely flowing down Bucky's cheeks as he finished his final conversation with his little brother. With a watery chuckle, he remarked,

"Say hi to your dame for me. Tell her I'm looking for a dance partner."

He paused.

"I'm sorry Steve. You'll have to wait for a bit to go home. I can't carry you right now. But one day, I'll be able to. One day, I'll bear your weight again and carry you home. I promise. I'll never abandon you, little brother. I'll come back for you. Just you wait. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone, okay? I love you, Stevie. I'll never ever ever forget you, and I'll never stop missing you. Never."

Bucky's throat closed completely as harsh sobs reverberated through his body. Tears blurred his eyes as he turned from Steve's grave and took the first, agonizing step away from Steve, knowing Steve was not taking an extra step to catch up. Knowing Steve would never catch up to him again. A second, third, and fourth step away from Steve. Away from home. Away from himself.

Stark quietly, handed him Steve's battered shield. Bucky's numb fingers closed over the leather straps, worn by years of use. He could almost see Steve, proud and strong in the reflection of the discus, hear his voice as they joked, laughed, and trekked through Europe side by side. He could feel the weight of Steve's hand on his shoulder, feel the bones that stuck through his shirt when they were young.

Bucky adjusted his careful hold on the shield, and for the first time since ninety years ago, for the first time since he met that little punk in the alley, for the first time since he met Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes stepped forward into the world alone. With an increasing distance, the Winter Soldier struck out on his own, stepping into the Quinjet, quietly letting Stark pilot, and resting his head against the freezing glass as he watched himself get farther and farther away from home. Watched himself slowly lose his way as the grave of Steve Rogers faded in the flurry of pure, white snow.

XXX

Three months later

The sky was crying. Tears poured down the buildings, pooled in the streets, and drowned the city in mourning. Bucky didn't mind.

The muddy ground sucked at his feet as he trekked through the graveyard, navigating weathered and worn tombstones, one name bouncing around his skull. Water soaked his skin as he got closer and closer to the one person who would want to know about Steve. He owed it to her. Abruptly, he stopped, having caught sight of who he was looking for.

"Hey Carter." The rain seemed to fade as he knelt down in front of her headstone, placing a single rose at its base.

"I'm sure you already know this, but I didn't want to leave you out of the loop. Steve's dead. I hope he found you. I know he missed you more than I could ever try to make you understand. So it's your turn, Mogs. Please take care of him."

In one fluid motion, Bucky pulled the shield that carried his friend through the war and leaned it against Peggy's headstone.

"One day, Carter, one day I bring you a body to accompany that shield. For now though, I can only give you this. I'll bring him home one day, Mogs. I promise. I know he's with you anyway. Take care of him, Peggy. Please. Tell him I'm sorry. I'll see you two again. One day. Steve still doesn't know how to dance. I'll set him straight when I get up there. In the meantime, stick to the slow stuff."

He rose despite the weight on his chest, rapidly blinking back tears. With a deep breath, he turned, calling over his shoulder,

"It's your turn to watch Steve. Try not to get into too much trouble. I'm too young to be a godfather!"

Pain twisted a knife in his chest, tears freely coursing down his cheeks, and with a slight, gasping laugh, he murmured,

"Goodbye, Stevie."

And the rain fell once more.


End file.
